


This Bus Is a Fucking Nightmare

by starcore



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Crack Fic, Discussion of Death, Fix-it Fic (sorta), Good Cows, I Hate This Fucking Bus, M/M, Mild Gore, Road Trip, Statements, bus trip, i posted this before 168 came out i promise, im so sorry, inspired by a tumblr post, it was 11:20 PM but it was that wednesday, shit yet happy ending, so spoilers up to there, technically jared/simon but like. only very technically, written post 167
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:53:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24299911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starcore/pseuds/starcore
Summary: The inside of the bus was rather gauche. There weren’t any regular seats, instead they had all been ripped out and replaced with couches, loveseats, a small kitchenette and dining room table, and the second floor was entirely beds. Strings of beads, ribbons, and fairy lights hung from the ceiling. A disco light spun around on the ceiling, changing color slowly. Jon and Martin were sharing a loveseat shaped like a seashell and upholstered with teal velvet. Helen perched on the huge green-and-pink leather ottoman in front of it, cross-legged and far too close for Jon’s comfort. She was slurping on a swirly straw coming out of a glass that was comically small for her fingers, something that could be blood or wine. Despite not wanting to know, Jon had asked her about it earlier. She said it was pure grenadine.---Jon and Martin find a bus. The road trip from hell, in hell, and possibly to hell begins.(OG summary):https://star---core.tumblr.com/post/618689989040128000anyway i need to get to sleep i have an ap world test tomorrow and i havent studied ive just written this over the past few days.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	This Bus Is a Fucking Nightmare

When Martin first saw the bus, covered in cobwebs and dust, with a suspicious ringing bouncing around the inside, his first thought was that it was safe. It was that thought that worried him the most, truly. Comfort was a lie, and all that. Tugging on Jon’s sleeve, Martin called his attention to it.

“That bus- there’s a phone on it. Again. It’s Annabelle, right?”

Jon glanced over. “Yes.”

“Should- should I, answer it?”

He thought for a moment. “How much of the Web do you want in your life?”

The next thing Martin saw was the yellow door on the side of the bus, made of wood. He started to hold his breath, hoping that if he gave his brain a little shock, it would go away. But as Martin’s luck would have it, it stayed there. “Helen’s there too, I think.”

Jon let out a terse laugh. “In that case, we really shouldn’t be going over there. Let’s go.” He kept walking on the dirt road, kicking a rock off of the edge and into the ditch. Of course, it happened to hit the door that had appeared in its path, sounding exactly like a knock as it did so. The door swung open.

“Boys!” Helen scolded, crossing her arms. The dress she was wearing this time was covered in rainbow spirals, drawing Martin’s eyes deeper and deeper into it until Jon nudged him a little harder than necessary. “I worked so hard to get her to trust me, or maybe I worked as hard as the Mother wanted- either way, you’re just ignoring this gift! The journey will be the journey, and all that, but if you use this, you don’t have to ruin another pair of shoes. There aren’t very many people around here to steal shoes from, and none of them are going to be in your sizes, I promise. It’s been three weeks since you started, and you’ve only made it through three domains. Come on! It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“I already don’t want anything to do with you, and if Annabelle is mixed up with it too, I dislike the thought of it even more,” sneered Jon.

“Martin, I thought you said you talked to him! And at least won’t you hear out the proposal we cooked up?”

“No! It’s a terrible idea, and I don’t even have to ask anyone to tell that. Martin, let’s go.”

Jon stalked off, grabbing hold of Martin’s sweater arm. When Martin didn’t move, Jon almost tripped trying to keep his grip. “Martin, you and I both know-”

“Ask it, then. Come on, Jon, we can’t keep walking forever. We can get a safe place to rest, collect our thoughts, at least for the… time being. Physically, I’m fine, but mentally, I need a break. The whole Gertrude thing didn’t really count as a break, not to me,” Martin said quietly. “And Helen does want to help, and probably so does Annabelle, in her own way. So ask it, and at least we can know for sure if it’s a trap, and then we never trust Helen again. I promise.”  
Letting out an annoyed groan, Jon turned towards the bus. The eye on his forehead opened, and the static in Martin’s head began to crescendo. Green eyes began to open around him, turned towards the bus, Helen, and the still-ringing telephone. Something in the back of Martin’s mind wondered why it hadn’t gone to voicemail yet. After a moment, Jon slumped back.

“Well?”

Jon bit his lip. “It’s… perfectly safe. For whatever definition of safe there is, here. It isn’t suspiciously safe, but it seems better than just walking to the Eye. But we can’t do this, Martin, we just can’t-”

“It’s for one night. Well, night-length period of time. Well, there isn’t really time, so it’s only for a short rest. Relatively short, anyway. I just- Jon, we need to be able to trust each other, and learn to trust some of the world around us.” Jon’s body tensed, and he turned to glare at Martin. “Trust as in vet before trusting, through the Eye. No man can be an island, and no monster-and-his-boyfriend-duo can be either. Just… I know you don’t trust her, but I won’t answer the phone. We sit down for a bit, you can interrogate Helen- oh! Maybe you can answer the phone and interrogate Annabelle. It won’t hurt us. You already checked to be sure of that.”

“I- I just, Martin-”

“I know what it’s like to be lonely, Jon. I know how it feels, and how only having each other can be. When was the last time we actually talked to another person? I know I went down to the town, but… just this once, okay?”

Jon massaged his forehead, pressing his fingers into the eye. “Fine. But just this once. And if I sense anything, we leave.”

“Yeah, yeah, for sure. Thank you.”

Martin started walking towards the bus, Jon clinging to his arm. As they passed Helen, she began to walk with them. “Oh, dear Archivist, you finally came around. I knew Martin could get you to see the light. We’re going to have such fun! I can paint your nails, and braid your hair, and Martin and I can gossip, and-”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Sorry.” She walked across him and whispered into Martin’s ear conspiratorially. “He’s still such a grump! This’ll be good for him, a moment of relaxation.”

“I can still- nevermind. Let’s just get this over with.” Helen laughed, her laugh echoing less than it normally did. They entered the bus. Helen brushed a few cobwebs off, which made Jon tense up against Martin’s arm. “There aren’t any spiders in here,” he hissed. “Where did the cobwebs-”

“Drama, Jon. Drama.”

“This is such a bad idea.”

\---

A few of what could’ve been considered minutes, hours, or years (depending on your perspective) passed. In the same way that the cabin was 100 miles from the border, it was closer to half an hour. Jon rolled over from where he was sitting onto Martin’s lap as Helen and Martin exchanged gossip. Despite their chattering, he was still sulking and watching every move. The phone had stopped ringing after a minute on the bus, and Jon was busy taking it apart piece by piece. The battery compartment had been filled with spiderwebs, and after grabbing a leaf to pull those out, it seemed like a normal phone.

“So why a bus? I mean, it could’ve been a house, or a car, or a bus shelter, but it’s a double-decker bus from… the 70s? that got turned into a hippy hangout, or something.”

“‘Scuse you, I am not a hippy. This lovely decor is brought to you by my favorite pieces of interior decor I found while a real estate agent! I didn’t just quit my job after Michael absorbed me, you know. I did have to take a break, but I had already requested time off. Once I put him in time-out, I went and got my old job back! They were a little unhappy, but when they tried to show me the door, well, they couldn’t seem to find it.”

Jon snorted. “Sure.”

“Jon, don’t be rude!”

“Martin, it was a joke, he has a right to laugh.” Jon rolled over and landed face down in Martin’s lap. The inside of the bus was rather gauche. There weren’t any regular seats, instead they had all been ripped out and replaced with couches, loveseats, a small kitchenette and dining room table, and the second floor was entirely beds. Strings of beads, ribbons, and fairy lights hung from the ceiling. A disco light spun around on the ceiling, changing color slowly. Jon and Martin were sharing a loveseat shaped like a seashell and upholstered with teal velvet. Helen perched on the huge green-and-pink leather ottoman in front of it, cross-legged and far too close for Jon’s comfort. She was slurping on a swirly straw coming out of a glass that was comically small for her fingers, something that could be blood or wine. Despite not wanting to know, Jon had asked her about it earlier. She said it was pure grenadine.

“You didn’t answer my question. Why a bus?”

“Because it still runs, and it’s awfully tiring just walking around all the time. At least with a bus, you can jury-rig the gas and go sit until the next nightmare.”

Incredulous, Martin asked “How?”

“Well, mostly it’s only from 2018, and it runs on cobwebs thanks to Annabelle’s influence. Engineers are very willing to do repairs if they think it’s the only thing that will buy their lives. Of course, not even that could, but he honestly wouldn’t’ve wanted to live anyway. It was right before this whole mess, and I think she knew what was coming.”

“Jon, do you think we might be able to-”

“The journey will be the journey, Martin.”

“Helen’s right, though, we could just- rig it to go! Drive instead of walk! It’s safe, you know it is-”

“I don’t want to-” Jon sat up. “Helen, can we leave the bus?”

“Anytime, dear Archivist. This isn’t a prison.”

“Martin, we need to talk about this. Come on.” He stood, stretching his arms, and dragged Martin past a smirking Helen and off the bus. Jon shut the door and turned to his boyfriend, a tense look on his face.

“We can’t do this. It- it isn’t safe in there-”

“More safe than just walking around! It’s an extra barrier to the outside world, for one thing, and one of us can drive while the other rests, if needed. And if Helen’s right, we won’t need to worry about petrol, or- roads, probably, because reality will shape itself to our needs, I bet, and overall I just want to stop walking! I should be tired, Jon! I should be in pain! And I’m not! Can we just-”

Jon gnawed nervously on his upper lip, and then nodded. “I- we can try it. But the minute that there is any more danger in there than out here, we leave. Promise?”

“Promise.”

They got back onto the bus, pushing past the bead curtain with someone who may have been Jesus and may have been Obi-Wan Kenobi on it and back to the loveseat. “Fine. You have the keys?”

“Oh! You made the smart choice! Here you go! I’m sure you don’t mind if I hang around for a while, do you? Excellent. Let’s get cracking, then! Oh, and you’ve got another call. Go ahead and break it apart if you want. Who wants to start her up?” Martin looked at Jon, who was scowling at the pile of plastic in which laid another phone, this one a Nokia. He took the keys and started the engine while Jon smote the cell phone, and when that failed to prove effective, grabbed it and threw it out of the window. Helen just laughed.

\---

The first few hours were uneventful. The journey was the journey, and all that. But soon enough, they reached their first real trial on the bus. Jon had scooted onto the loveseat that had replaced the driver’s chair and was curled up with Martin, glaring at Helen’s coos.

“We’re here.”

“Wh-what?”

“The End. It won’t be too much more difficult, so just keep driving. No one really dies, and so the only horrors here are the elderly, stuck in bed, waiting for death to take them. Mary Ellen-” Jon stopped as Martin slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Do you want to go outside, upstairs, or have me go up? You need to take a statement, I get that, but-”  
“Mmmmph, mmmph.”

“Right. Uh, nod if you want to go outside there.”

Jon nodded.

“Alright. I’ll be here. Don’t go too far, I guess? Find your way back here, please.”

Jon walked out, very deliberately grinding his lips into a pulp via his teeth until he found a rocking chair on a porch not too far from the road. A tape recorder sat on the chair, swaying back and forth. The Archivist sat down with his back to the screen door and took a deep breath.

“Mary Ellen is 102. She has been 102 for the last few months, and the last few decades. Time can’t pass here. She sits in her bed, waiting for death to take her. She saw her great-granddaughter just last year, nearly 10. She was the last one out of the big blue house, and the last human Mary Ellen has seen. She’s nearly blind, and so “seen” might be incorrect. But either way, she’s been alone. The Lonely has its place here, but the fear she has is not of dying alone. She is afraid she will die. She knows it will come for her, one dark night as she cannot sleep, lying awake, her breath the only sound she can hear. Or perhaps it will be as she tries, desperately, to get up again and make food. She’s lucky that this started when it did, or else she would have died sooner. As it stands, she can barely move her lips to cry out for something, anything, the sound of birds, the rumble of a car, the proof that she is still alive and not stuck in a Purgatory of her own making. Her frame is skinny, and somewhere in her mind her teenage self congratulates her on that, being just skin and bones, exactly what a man would want of her. What men aren’t. The next shuddering breath, she is sure will kill her. But she stays there, stuck and breathing in and out, and in and out, and in- maybe if she holds her breath it won’t hurt her. She can force her blood to pump through her veins and get enough energy to get water- she is so thirsty. But she is too weak to force herself to sufficiently suffocate, and she exhales with the start of a throbbing headache. She doesn’t want the end to come. She wants to live. Her time as a nurse comes back to her, watching the geriatrics fade away, the glassiness of their eyes, the coolness of their skin. She can’t be that. She won’t be that. She kicks her leg, and she sees her blanket move. She smiles, cracking her dry lips and breaking the skin open, beginning to bleed out her energy and blood as it pours into her mouth. The blood keeps dribbling out, dehydrating her even further, and she feels her tear ducts itch for any kind of water with which to cry, but none comes. Maybe dehydration will take her, and not starvation. The fever, the sunken eyes, the loss of cognitive function- she begins to breathe heavily, panicking as she feels around her mouth for any sign of moisture, but there is none.

On the other side of town, Clarence wonders why the only people in town he’s run into at the grocery store are old. One collapses in front of him, spasming, hitting their head on the shelf in front of them and bleeding out before his eyes. He tries to find it in him to care, but it’s the third time this week. He wants to find the end of the grocery store, to rest before he becomes like the poor woman bleeding onto the broccoli, but he can’t find it, and if he stops to rest here, he is certain he will never be able to get back up and he will die there, losing function of his organs one by one until he stops existing. He wonders where all the young children went, why he no longer runs into the kind teenagers restocking the ice cream, where the middle-aged man who wipes up spills is now that the floor is nearly slippery with blood. He doesn’t know that even in this hell, the few children who fear death are afraid of it coming at them in the dark, or while they are alone, and the teenagers and twentysomethings are only afraid of being hunted or dying in a car crash or overdosing while chasing their latest high or getting cancer, and the rest of them have resigned themselves to death. Clarence wonders if he should join them, just give in, but he refuses. He won’t die. He wants to live, to exist, to experience things. But as he rounds the corner into the bulk section, he sees a skeleton that was still a rotting corpse the last time he passed it. He grimaces at it, and when it grimaces right back, he walks off without another word. He won’t end up like that, either, he promises himself. If death comes for him, he won’t keep hanging on until he is bones and dust and then just dust. He is lying to himself.

The End is a small domain, and yet the largest of them all. The Eye eats up everyone’s trauma, uses the other fears, but it itself is not feared as much as it hopes. The End is the opposite. The other fears all claim a piece of it, suicide given to the Spiral, suffocation and drowning given to the Buried, hitting the ground- and also suffocation and drowning- given to the Vast, starvation given to the Flesh, illness given to the Corruption, violence the Slaughter and the Desolation, fright and heart attacks the Eye and the Hunt. But underneath these, death waits patiently. In this new world, where no one truly dies, you may think that the End would complain. But it feeds off of everyone, and everyone fears it.

Eustace Julian Allan Williams isn’t afraid of death. It’s a dumb thing, to be afraid. All you need to fear is fear itself! Despite the fact that he wasn’t alive to hear Franklin Delano Roosevelt say it, he has taken it to heart. He spends his evenings watching TV. Wheel of Fortune reruns are enough to entertain Eustace Julian Allan Williams! He gets up from his rocking chair next to the barn to go see his husband, but Alexander Horace Williams isn’t around to be found. He calls out for him, stopping to cough before picking it back up, walking outside to where the dog has curled up on the porch. Eustace leans down to pat her head, then keeps walking. Down the gravel road, up to the windmill installed by some big company down south, east to the house his great-great grandfather had built. He says “Alex” again, but there is no response. Or- wait, there is one, a slight groan coming from the second floor. It takes Eustace a moment to get to the right level- the stairs are in odd places, and some skip the second floor to go right to the third, and some go to the second-and-a-half floor where there’s only a bathroom with a tiny window, and despite living in it for his whole life, Eustace still swears it changes. Well, as of the last couple of years. He’s never been very forgetful. Must be catching up to him now. Eventually though, he finds the second floor. He calls out for Alex again and hears a louder groan. Alex is laid in the green paisley bedroom, blankets pulled up over him. Eustace comes over to him and sits on the edge of the bed, reaching down to touch his husband’s face. He’s running a fever- or maybe the bitter wind of the outside’s made Eustace cold.

‘Can I get you some water, dear?’

There’s just a groan.

‘I’ll be right back, hon.’

Eustace goes down the stairs, careful not to fall. Of course, he’s not afraid of falling. He doesn’t see himself fall on each step, slipping on the carpeted stairs that are just a little too big to be called a ladder, or missing the step in his arrogance and falling face-first onto the next few, cracking his head open. He isn’t afraid of dying, no sir. Not of his own death or of the death of Alex. Alex had just spent too much time outside, had caught a little cold. Unlike his mother, his lungs were fine. Alex had no genetic issues that led him to having COPD at all, no siree. Eustace made it to the tap and pulled out the water filter, then poured out two cups of water. He didn’t think for a moment about how he couldn’t hold on to the rails on the stairs, or open the door easily with both hands full, or run to Alex’s side if he cried out. Being very careful and slow, he slipped two pieces of ice into the cups and started back towards the stairs. After a very calm and relaxed trip up the stairs, he bumped the door to Alex’s- temporary- room and put the cups down. He said Alex’s name once, twice, three times before Alex’s eyes fluttered open. Eustace Julian Allan Williams helped his husband sit up and guided the cup of water to his mouth. Alex barely swallowed. When Eustace set him back down against the pillows, his breathing slowed. This didn’t worry Eustace. The coughing, hacking of the man he had loved for ten years wasn’t an issue at all. He didn’t give in to his desire to beg, to plead with whatever gods were listening, the eye he had seen up in the sky, the man who had walked by last week and simply smiled at him, the Abrahamic god, Hades and… whatever the name of the actual death god was, Eustace couldn’t remember and oh, oh no, Alex was still breathing, right? Right? And then a mercy, an allowance by some higher power, and Alex sat up and smiled. Then disappeared. And suddenly, Eustace Julian Allan Williams had trouble breathing. He reached up to the desk for his cup of water, and found several dozen cups of water and pills sitting there, but try as he might he couldn't touch them. From a half a mile away, he thought he saw a form in the hayloft of the barn stretch and yell something- but he couldn’t be sure. He managed to pull himself up into the bed as the figure descended, and started to walk around, calling out something Eustace couldn’t hear. And suddenly, Eustace was very, very afraid.”

“Re-recording ends.” Jon let out a breath, and turned off the tape recorder from the chair. He took it with him as he walked back towards the bus, in which he could see three figures sitting. He smiled, seeing Martin’s form shake, likely with laughter. Jon didn’t have to ask the Beholding to know that much. Helen was probably telling him some joke that Jon would hate as soon as he heard it, but at least Martin could get a little time to laugh, even with that eye in the sky. The third figure-  
The… third figure. Jon broke out into a sprint, although he wasn’t very far from the bus. When he got there, the door was shut and locked. He hammered on it, blood pounding in his ears. He was not going to let anyone hurt Martin. He would not let anyone hurt Martin. Fist pulled back, Jon prepared to smash through the glass. The Beholding allowed this being into his bus, to his Martin, just so Jon would finish his statement. He threw himself at the door and when he fell into the steps, he almost broke his nose. The eyes around him helpfully gave him the sight his eyes couldn’t see- a dark-skinned man with tortoise-shell glasses and short, buzz-cut and patterned hair stood above him. He felt his power swell as he got up from the floor of the bus and closed the door. Jon wasn’t very tall on a good day, maybe 5’6”, but he still towered over the newcomer.

“Who. Are. You.”

The man was blown backwards by some force Jon knew came from within, and as he fell, Jon grabbed him by the necktie and pulled them face to face.

“I- I- Oliver Banks. Avatar of-”

“What do you want, Oliver Banks? Why shouldn’t I smite you where you stand? You-” he pulled a quick memory out of Martin’s mind, as this newcomer was oddly resistant. “You threatened Martin. You die now.”

“I just want to come with you! I don’t want to live here. I could finally get some sleep and no, sleep no longer matters, and I can no longer sleep and that eye kept watching and the tentacles were gone but it didn’t matter and I felt you, I knew you were here and you felt the same as when I saw you in the coma but it didn’t matter, and please don’t hurt me. As for killing me though, I hope you can. Actually, if anyone could, it would be you, because you managed to kill something in this world where nothing can die, and so you might be my only hope for dying, and-”

“Jon, wait! He… didn’t mean to threaten me. He doesn’t mean harm. He actually woke you up, from your coma. Put him down. Please.” Martin grabbed at Jon’s arm, and looked up into his eyes. His normal ones. The rest of the ones floating around his head still watched Oliver Banks, as did the ones embedded in his body. Slowly, they closed and disappeared. Jon didn’t remove his hand from Oliver’s throat, but he did allow the man to touch the floor. Oliver didn’t seem terribly afraid, but he did seem out of breath from Jon ripping out every thought in his head without allowing him time to breathe.

“I… I gave you a statement. While you were in a coma and before then.” As Jon relaxed more, the man who he thought was short began to stand up further, revealing that Jon barely came up to his shoulders. “I gave you the name Antonio Blake, well, I gave Gertrude that name.” He started to straighten out his clothing. “You remember the Dreamer, as I think she titled it? The one with the tentacles on those who would die shortly? And I don’t know if you heard me in your coma, but I gave you the choice between death as your condition would dictate, or an embrace of your powers of the Eye. The Spider sent me to you?”  
Jon finally unclenches his hand and steps back, holding Martin’s arm closely. “I thought that was Elias.”

“Ask Georgie, I think her name was. Or just look into my mind, as long as I have warning I don’t mind. She ran into me, and would’ve gone after me, except that you made your decision. But now? Now that I know what the Spider meant you to do? I’m here to bring it all back. Sleepless nights are nothing, compared to this hell. My domain isn’t even good. So I thought I’d come with you, help you as much as I could. Sorry, Martin, I didn’t recognize you. I saw you with Helen, who I do know, and assumed…”  
Helen, for her part, was grinning a far-too-wide smile. Jon Knew that she was looking forward to having more people on their-

“You think this is a road trip? You think this is all fun and games?”

Helen schooled her face into something resembling seriousness. “Who, me?”

“I- you- why?”

She sighed and sat down, lacing her fingers to make a headrest. “Because, dear Archivist, I fucking hate the Lonely. Helen does too. Those Lukases were always asking me about the use of my corridors, and comparing what I do to their terrible Forsaken. Ugh!” She tossed her hair. “And besides, what’s an apocalypse without a band of ragtag adventurers? It helps psychologically- against my domain some, but I’m willing to forgo it if it brings back more people and it gets rid of the eye- and makes survival easier. Sure, no one here sleeps, us avatars least of all, but we do need to rest. Please?”

Jon stood with his mouth slightly open, thinking. There was no malice in her words, tone, or thoughts. She really just wanted to help. She was a manipulative liar, sure, but nothing could hide from him anymore. Oliver had pulled him out of a coma, and he obviously wanted the world back. And… if Martin trusted Helen, Jon could too.

“Alright. Oliver, you can come with.” Despite not touching him, Jon felt Oliver relax. “Let’s get out of here though. And I swear to God-”

A phone began ringing. “Annabelle, I will find you, and I will destroy you.” There was a small giggle from Helen as Jon incinerated it with a glare.

“I didn’t know you had seen Taken, Archivist!”

“I haven’t.”

Helen laughed harder. “You’re just that dramatic, then? I can see where your college self shines through, then. Your music was excellent, by the way.”

Shooting her a glare, Jon stomped to the driver’s seat and started the bus. He hit the gas with far too much force, and the whole bus jolted, throwing Helen and Oliver backwards. Martin was not affected, which surprised everyone. He made his way to the front, but Jon snapped at him when he tried to sit down, so Martin gave him some space. He joined Helen and Oliver in the sitting area, choosing a leaf-patterned fauteuil.

“You mentioned he played music?”

Helen’s grin broke out across her cheeks, too far across. “Oh, Martin, dear, let me introduce you to the Mechanisms.”

\---

When Jon’s hissyfit from Helen’s outburst was over, he had another hissyfit over her telling Martin about his college antics. Martin did already know he used to go on carousels as an adult, but the Mechanisms were a special kind of embarrassing for him. Martin was just impressed by his vocal range and storytelling talent. After that hissyfit, in which he blasted past yet another Stranger domain, he let Oliver take the wheel. Helen didn’t have a license. He went upstairs to avoid Helen’s teasing, and found a small cubby in the ceiling to store the recording, as well as the others. Martin came up after him, and laid down on the bed.

“Hey.”

“H… hey.”

“Are you doing okay? I know it’s always hard after statements, and then Oliver and Helen- you haven’t gotten a break.”

“No, Martin, I’m not okay! I started an-”

“Yes, yes, but you still deserve to feel- better, every once in a while! You are on your way to the Panopticon to undo everything that you were manipulated by a body-hopping 200 year old twink to do! And it makes me feel bad to know that you are feeling bad. So maybe just relax for a minute. Do you want a backrub, or anything?” Martin faded off, embarrassed by his own outburst.

Jon didn’t respond for a moment. Then-

“Did you call Jonah Magnus a twink?”

“Oh, out of everything I say, that’s what you focus on?”

“I’m just saying-”

“Did you see his portrait? It’s hung up in Eli- his office, and he was a skinny little twink! So was James Wright, who has a photo in the hall, and so is Elias. I think he’s got a type.”

“I-”

“You know, we should’ve known that they were all Jonah. I remember going into his office, and he was sitting in the exact same position as the portrait. Did you ever see the Office? I swear, exactly the same. Hand on his chin in the same position, same I’m-smarter-than-you-and-I-am-nearly-ununderstandable-with-my-bullshit-archaic-language look in their eyes, same-”

Jon was rolling on the bed now, almost falling between the crack between two mattresses. Martin managed to catch him, and Jon swooped forwards to give him a peck on the lips. “Stop, stop. I… I need to be watching. I can’t have you-” a hand on his ribs began to skitter, tickling him- “distracting me-” Martin had pulled him into his lap and was merciless on the side of his waist- “from my job! Martin, we can’t. Please.”

Martin made a face, but pulled back. “I know. I just want you to be happy. Okay?”

Sighing, Jon pulled their faces together. Martin’s was red with laughter, while Jon knew his own was tear-streaked. “Okay. I promise you, I will try. But it can’t be for too long- I still don’t feel safe.” He scanned the bus. There were two figures on the top floor, two on the bottom, and one pinning themself to the undercarriage, despite the low frame, squished between the gearbox and the hydraulic fuel reserves, which Jon hadn’t even known the names of two minutes ago. Its name was Sarah Baldwin. An Avatar of the Stranger. It was so done with everything nowadays- like really, all she wanted to do was finish film school! She didn’t want to get pulled into running a taxidermy shop, or torturing hundreds of people in her domain, or any of that! She hoped that no one on board would kill her, because she could help, right? She could fuck with… whoever it was that started this, be a distraction. And the Archivist- Jon? Daisy? One of the two, probably- wouldn’t even have to worry about her dying, because he didn’t care about her and presumably he cared about whoever he was travelling with, and wow it was cramped down here. The ground was waaaaaay too close for comfort, and if she wasn’t certainly going to get killed without a good plan, she would just pull herself up and sit down. It looked really comfy in there, too. She could’ve sworn the woman who almost saw her had too-long fingers though, like another Stranger avatar, so maybe she could get some help from her? Or maybe not, the woman did have a fun spiral dress, and so maybe she was an avatar of the Spiral, but that other guy- probably some other institute employee, if the Archivist was Daisy it could’ve been Jon, but Jon was short, wasn’t he?

“Martin, there is someone under the bus. She doesn’t want to hurt us, she’s in a similar situation to Oliver. I’m telling you, because she’s an avatar of the Stranger, and she can’t hurt either of us, I proved that- she isn’t even as powerful as the not!them, so if needed, I can incinerate her. I think I can mess with Helen and Oliver if I don’t tell them, and wherever she decides is a good place to join us, they’ll freak out. It’ll serve them right for mocking me behind my back. And this is Sarah Baldwin, who we have seen statements about, and who never really wanted to hurt anyone. I actually ran into her, and she told us a lot. Bit of an asshole about it, but she got shot a few times, and seems to have learned her lesson. You know, with all the complicated Eye people around, or Oliver, or the Spiral around, it’s actually pretty easy to… Know things now about people. She’s straightforward, now.”

“Jon? You’re- okay with this?”

“I think so. It might not be her, but it’s more that I have power over her. Look, you said you wanted me to be more emotionally open, and this is me trying, I know it sounds bad, but I can’t phrase it right, and-”

“Sounds… good. I don’t really get it, and it probably isn’t a part of the Jon Sims that started working with me, the first one I liked, but I’m no longer myself, either.” Martin took a deep breath. “So let’s just keep going.”

\---

The next hellscape was that of the Flesh. This one could be seen from far away, as it was a massive city built of living humans. Jon Knew that Jared was here, could feel his rib cage ache as Jared did… something. He didn’t really want to focus on it. Beings with too many legs scuttled past the bus, but didn’t seem to notice it. Jon moved upstairs, kicking out Oliver and Helen, and started to record a statement. Downstairs, however, Sarah Baldwin was finally crawling out of her hidy-hole.  
It wasn’t obvious to any of the three at first, that there was something different about Sarah. Even the curve of her bones and torn up pieces of flesh seemed “normal” for the domain they were in. But when Jared “Boneturner” Hopworth came barreling out of nowhere and crashed into her, she got back up, and that was the first sign to Oliver that something was wrong. Jared and Sarah faced each other, and Sarah pulled her skin back over her sawdust insides.

Martin made a face at that, but he figured that they would take care of each other, one way or another. When a third upright, seemingly sane being showed up at the scene, staring at both of them, even Helen started to get worried.

“Jan. What are you doing out here?” Their voices were loud enough to carry into the bus, shaking the floor whenever Jared boomed out.

“Jared, I’m booooooooored. And she’s not quite like me, but she is far Stranger than you, honestly.”

He grunted. “So who are you.”

Sarah rolled her shoulders back into place. “None of your business.”

“What are you doing here? This is my domain, and you aren’t welcome. I barely tolerate one avatar of the Stranger on my turf, and it ain’t you. So beat it.”

“I will as soon as the man upstairs finishes his recording. I just couldn’t deal with being stuck under that damned bus. This was the safest place to come out- after all, my skin being wrong won’t be suspicious here. Look- they haven’t even noticed me.” Sarah gestured at the windows of the bus, where Helen, Oliver, and Martin were all staring at her, then Jared, then the being Jared had called Jan. Sarah cursed and shook her head. “Okay, they have. But point is, I’m not hanging around here for much longer. Sorry to disturb you.”

“You know, I think I deserve some payment for you passing through. A toll. Spine tax. And you can’t pay it. So you three- yes, I know you can hear me, I can feel your eardrums vibrating- get out here.”

Helen went out first, followed by Oliver. Martin bit his lip and stayed on the bus.

“Eh. Good enough. Say, aren’t you- GET OUT HERE. You’re one of them, the ones who were at the Institute. You-”

“Okay, okay, I’m coming! Please don’t hurt me.”

“I can feel your Archivist up there. Get him down here too, unless you want to pay the tax for him.”

Martin shook his head. “I- he’s reading a statement at the moment. Saying one. I can’t- we should just leave him.”

“Oh, do we have a volunteer for the tax? Well, I suppose so. Come here.”

Helen moved to stand between Martin and Jared. “No, I don’t think he will. No, I will pay the toll, as much as I may not like it.”

“And what are you?”

She laughed, seeming to encourage the echos to last longer than they normally did. “You can’t tell? You don’t remember?”

Jared glanced down at “today”’s outfit, a bowling-alley style long button-up tee covered in square spirals, matched with a pair of leggings covered in squares that seemed to move and shimmer, then at her hands.

“You’re the one who trapped me in there, aren’t you. The Spiral. You owe me.”

“Well, I did let you out. You attacked us, and I couldn’t have that. You fled through my doors, and once you stopped throwing a fit, I let you out.”

“Above a river!”

“Not my fault you rushed through without watching where you were going. Now what do you want?”

“A reason I should let you go. And a couple of fingers- you look like you have plenty to spare.”

“We are on our way to make sure this all goes away. If you try to stop us, I kill you. Or make sure you’re as close to dead as anything can get in here. Maybe I throw you back into the halls. Your choice, really.” Helen craned her neck, spiraling it out; while Martin repressed a gag.

Jan stood up straight, bouncing on the balls of her feet, of which she had too many. “You guys are going to stop this? Can I come? I’m so booooooored. Pleease?”

“Please stop talking like that,” Sarah snapped. “And if any stranger avatar is getting onto the bus, it will be me. I’m sick of this too, you know.”

Finally speaking up, Oliver said, “We need to ask Jon. He’s the one with all the power here.”

“Jared, you should come too! You have a lot of flesh to play with here, but you can’t tell me you don’t miss having a purpose. You said so yourself just the other day.”

“We are not accommodating him,” Oliver snapped, while Martin just made a pained noise. Helen just laughed.

“You really want to be on the bus with me, Jared? You would never.”

Jared drew himself up to his full height, a giant mass of flesh towering over them, with far too many fingers and nine visible rib cages. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Tell the truth? It does go against my nature, but sometimes it’s just too fun! And after all, if I only lie, there’s no fun to be had; people just get used to it.”

Jared sighed, and then started taking bits of himself off. Martin walked off to the other side of the bus to vomit. Sarah and Jan watched, taking notes. Eventually, Jared was only 7 feet tall, and looked more or less like a normal person other than the limbs coming out of him. Grabbing at bits of the flesh he had torn off, he started to force them back into himself, twisting them around until they fit in. “I’m getting on that bus.”

“Not until Jon gives you the go ahead, though. Because I had to nearly beg for him not to kill me, and I got hit by a satellite.”

The 5 of them stood around awkwardly for a moment, no one entirely sure what to do. Martin, who had finished vomiting, came back to the group’s silence and saw a very nervous-looking Jared.

“So… you’re staying here, then?” There was hope and panic in Martin’s voice.

“Nope. Elias wronged me enough. I’m coming to make sure he never moves again.”

Martin screwed up his face for a moment, shaking his head, then returned his face to normal. “Right. Okay. This is… a thing that is happening. Alright! I’m going to go upstairs, because even hearing Jon describe whatever bullshit you have going on here is better than… this.”

He did just that, leaving the avatars alone. Jan was the first to speak.

“So, anyone for a game of BS?”

\---

After a lot of begging, cajoling, Knowing, and debate, Jon had let the three avatars onto the bus. “But if you try anything, even think anything, you are off this bus. God, this is such a bad idea.”

“On the bright side, it does give us more power against him.” Martin was driving while Jon was lying upside-down on the loveseat, knees hooked over the back.

“I guess.” Despite his position with his head at Martin’s knees, Jon was still watching the rest of them. Sarah and Jan were discussing how to pin back skin, while Jared put in occasional comments and offers of help. Helen had grabbed Oliver and was painting his nails a lovely orange color. Mostly, Jared was messing with a table and trying to boneturn it into a TV stand. Somehow, he had pulled a TV and Wii out of his body, and was working on setting them up. Jon hated what he saw, but none of it was… dangerous, exactly.

“I just don’t want to turn this into a bomb, of sorts.”

“I get it, yeah. Oh! Cow! Er, cows! 4, 5… 8 cows! That brings my total to, uh-”

“87, not counting the pigs that you said had to be cows because of how big they were.”

“What’re you at?”

“I can see every single cow throughout the entirety of the world, Martin.”

“But how many of them have been on your side of the road?”

“...22.”

“Ha!” Martin nudged Jon with his knee. “I’m winning.”

“What’s the goal?”

“It was, uh, 200.”

“You made that up just now. We didn’t agree on a goal.”

“Nope. The Eye is lying to you. Sorry! We definitely agreed on 200 back in the murdershack, actually.”

Jon giggled, then quickly shut his mouth. But it was too late. Helen had finished the latest coat on Oliver’s hand, and Jon felt her long fingers on his knee. “Did I hear a giggle from our little Archivist? Is it true that he’s finally letting loose?”

“Yup.”

“Martin!”

“I’m sorry, the Eye told me you did. It chose me just now. You have lost the power, and I can now see everything.”

Helen laughed a relatively normal laugh. “You two are so cute! And don’t try to deny it this time, Archivist. You are sharing a loveseat with your boyfriend and aren’t even sitting normally- you’re cute.” Jon kicked up at her, catching the side of her jaw. She rubbed at it and frowned. “Good thing you banned shoes in here, otherwise that would’ve hurt.”

“That was Martin, not me.”

“Who said I was talking to you?”

“I know your intentions and everything about you, including who that statement was directed at.”

“Ugh. Spoilsport. I think Oliver needs another coat, so I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.”

She went back to the couch. Sarah turned to her and asked, “So, Helen, right? Last I saw, you were Michael. What happened?”

“He was being a brat, so I put him in time-out. Threatening to kill the Archivist so that your ritual couldn’t go through. When I noticed, I took over. Sorry about your ritual, by the way.”

“Sorry about yours, as well. I knew Jonah years back, and so when I heard that the latest Archivist had thwarted the Spiral’s ritual, I knew it was his fault. He’s rather close to my domain, honestly. Changing faces, and all that.”

Jon was suddenly glad he wasn’t driving. He swung himself around, knocking into Martin’s side with his head in the process, and stood up. Too quickly, but he steadied himself and walked over. “You knew Jonah Magnus?”

“I know him, actually. No one can change faces for so long and not grab my attention. Plus, the Eye had to reach out to grant him immortality, and it chose us! The greatest enemy, in some ways, but the only one of us that could create such a dramatic life-lengthening ritual. And I did try to tell you, assumed you knew, actually.”

Realization dawned on him “‘It’s Elias now, then?’ you said- I could’ve-”

“Jon, it didn’t happen. Stop dwelling on it,” Martin called out from the front.

Sarah snorted. “Your therapist, I assume?”

Jon turned to her and felt the static around him grow stronger. “Don’t you dare.”

She squeaked out an apology.

“What was he like, Jonah Magnus?”

“I- I never met him personally. Not as the- you call it the Anglerfish-, and certainly not as Sarah Baldwin. I heard about him, though. He was a manipulative man, part of the group Smirke brought together. I don’t know much other than that. Mostly I was trying to antagonize you and your police officer.”  
Sighing, Jon let the static die. He stormed back to the front of the bus and went up the stairs. Martin glanced back at Oliver, who studied his fingernails for a moment before nodding and trading places. There weren’t seatbelts, or anything, and the chair was a loveseat bolted to the floor, so it wasn’t nearly as awkward as it seemed like it would be. Martin chased up after Jon, going to comfort him. Helen would’ve been more concerned for Sarah if Jared hadn’t taken that moment to announce, “Mario Kart’s set up,” which sent Sarah and Jan racing for the controllers, Helen not far behind. Oliver groaned and demanded a turn as soon as the other two came back down.

Jared had taken Bowser, while Helen grabbed Iggy. She sent a small thanks up to her god that he was unlocked. The Wiimote was slightly too small for Helen’s hands, but Jared reached over and pulled at it. “These ones are custom-made of bone.”

From the front of the bus, Oliver let out a quiet “what the fuck”. Helen just thanked Jared and waited for the other two to pick their characters. Jan chose Waluigi, and Sarah took Rose Gold Peach. Helen won the first race, and Jared won the next two. Sarah looked like she wanted to tear his arms off after she lost her first-place spot.

It was then that Oliver noticed the fire ahead of him. It was off in the distance, and almost blended into the horizon- what little there was- as a bright orange streak of light. The Desolation. The road was headed right for it, and he knew that there wasn’t a way around, really. But it was at least 30 miles away. He could wait to be alarmed.  
But the bus was going 90 (in a 65), and so it only took 15 minutes for the heat to start to get to them. Jon and Martin made their way back down. Oliver almost felt bad for them, he wouldn’t want to have to deal with the four in the back either. Actually, he did feel bad for them. He could afford to do that.

“So, we are coming up on the Desolation, which is why the AC just reads “fuck”. Nice touch on that, by the way.”

“Oh, don’t thank me, thank Annabelle! She’s the mastermind behind this whole bus, except the decor.”

There was a loud sigh from behind them, and Martin asked, “Is this really necessary right now? We have some bigger issues.”

“Uh, yeah, for example: the woman in the road ahead of us.”

Jon felt his arm twitch. “I know her, let me talk to her. It’s Jude Perry. Like you, Jared, she promised to kill me the last time we met, but I have a strange feeling that won’t be what happens here.” Oliver stopped the bus and opened the door. As Jon got off, Oliver thought about becoming a bus driver, once all of this was over. The countryside was more peaceful than the city, and- nope, too many people.

Jon straightened out his unironed shirt and walked over to Jude. Her normally short hair was even shorter, burnt off. She stared at him, death in her eyes and anger radiating off of her. He stopped a few feet short of handshake distance and waited.

“Archivist.”

“Ms. Perry.”

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you going to thrive in this new world?”

“This was Jonah’s success, actually.”

“Really.”

“Yes really, I- Jude! No! I am incredibly unsuccessful and I have nothing to live for at the moment! Don’t come closer.”

She rolled her eyes and ignored him. “I’m coming with. I can see Oliver back there, you’re obviously off to go stop him. This apocalypse is boring as shit. People might think they have something to live for, but the only truly happy person is him. So let’s go.” Jude stalked past him onto the bus, and the temperature of the air lowered. Jon just stood there, shocked.

“Hey, are you coming? I’m driving for the next- wait, is that Mario Kart?”

Shaking his head, Jon walked back towards the bus. It was cooler now, almost tolerable. From the doorway, Martin smiled sheepishly.

“I guess it is actually a bus service, eh?”

“I guess.”

\---

Jude was very good at Mario Kart, but when Jared swapped it out for Smash, she lost her winning streak. Jon had spent nearly an hour telling the story of those burning in Jude’s domain, leaving Martin to deal with them or drive. He chose to drive. Oliver was killer at Smash, managing to kill all of them even when they teamed up against him all at once. Jude had started smoking, which Martin had turned back to admonish her for before seeing that it was coming off of her hair. He just asked her to open a window.

The domain of the Dark came and went, and Manuela joined the gang. No one was very happy about that, but it was better than letting Elias see them coming. Jon was having trouble seeing her, and he was all powerful. The bus became more and more dangerous, but not in ways Jon didn’t expect. She also had a license, which was appreciated. The drivers were now Oliver, Sarah, Jon, Martin, Jude, and Manuela. This gave Jon and Martin a chance to hang around upstairs, cuddling under a white-and-grey striped comforter. The second level wasn’t just theirs, but at the moment, Manuela was driving and the others were participating in a Wii Sports tournament.

“So, what was it like playing Johnny D’Ville?”

Jon groaned and pushed his face into the lime faux fur pillow on Martin’s chest. “Nooo…”

“Come on! I gave the albums I could find a listen, and they weren’t bad. The writing on them was really good. It was basically poetry!”

“Prose, Martin, it was prose. Not poetry.”

“And you tease me for being dramatic. You went to Edinburgh Fringe, for christ’s sake! I thought the Bifrost Incident was the best album, although maybe a bit on the nose for what’s going on now. ‘Where did you get that violin’ was my favorite line in the whole thing.”

“Maybe the Eye already liked the look of me. That bit in specific, I thought up in a dream.”

“What was up with Oxford? From what you’ve told me about your college days, it was… something. And Georgie ended up finding a corpse on campus, the whole mess with the medical building- is there anything else that happened?” Jon’s third eye twitched as Manuela ran into a garbage can that had blown into the road.

“I mean, yes? There was a reason I joined the Magnus Institute.”

“Other than Mr. Spider?”

Jon sat back up. “You know about that?”

“I found the tapes you left. I found all of them.”

“Well, yeah, there was more. That was back when I was 8. I- oh, I’m giving a statement now, aren’t I,” Jon groaned. “Do you want to know?”

“Not… really. Sorry.”

“No, it isn’t your fault- well, maybe it is. You probably have something of the Eye in you, point is, it’s fine.”

Martin pulled Jon into a hug as the bus hit a pothole dead on. There was a loud curse from below, Jared, losing a grip on his controller. Jude began to cackle.

“You know, it’s pretty odd that so many of us have names that start with J. You, Jude, Jared, Jan, Jonah, Johnathan Fenshawe, Jurgen- if we expand the criteria to ‘any name that starts with something you could use to say the word “gif”’, Jurgen gets nixed, but you get Gertrude and Gerry and Gabriel, Helen’s old name- does that count as a deadname?- oh, and I forgot about Jan Kilbride, the Vast lady, Julia Montauk, Jane, John Amherst, and isn't there a John Haan or something? Maybe the entities just like the sound.”

Jon rubbed his eyes. “Martin, that’s not- statistically, there’s a lot of us named those names! John is one of the most common, and that’s three of them, Jane isn’t an uncommon name- neither is Julia or Jan-”

“But, so is, like, Carter. And Jake, which starts with a J but we don’t have. David. Emma.”

“Emma as in Gertrude’s assistant?”

“Oh.” Martin smooshed his lips together in thought. “Well-”

“The top names for boys in the 80s and 90s were Michael, Christopher, Matthew, Joshua, and Jacob and David, because the names are mostly the same up til that point. Names for girls were Jessica, Ashley, Emily, Sarah, and Samantha in the 80s, and Jessica, Jennifer, Amanda, Ashley, and Sarah. Most of us are around that age, and so statistically, it is actually pretty normal to have a few Johns and such.”

“Other than Sarah and Emma, there’s not a Chris or Matt that I’ve met, or run into on statements, and similar with a Jessica or Ashley! Jen, sure, I get that, but it’s strange. And none of those names started with a G.”

“In the past 100 years, the most popular English boys' names have been James and John. Michael is 4th, and we’ve met two of those. This isn’t a conspiracy, Martin.”

“It is, I swear! There’s, er, probably some Lukas family member with a J or a G, the Buried only ever really had the Governor and Karoline Gorka- stop laughing!”

But Jon couldn’t. Another round of curses came from downstairs as, from what Jon could See, Helen had opened a door that one of the Miis went into, and they no longer existed. It was the anatomy student’s Mii, which they had quickly taken the form of as she played. Jon shuddered, but kept laughing. Manuela’s Mii- wait.

Jon leaned his head against Martin’s shoulder. “Manuela put cruise control on and also made a system of counterweights to keep the wheel upright. The bus has no driver.” As Jon had predicted, Martin shot up. “You have to be bloody kidding me.”

“Nope.” He groaned and got off of Martin’s shoulder. “Let’s go save the world, and also not die in a bus crash.”

“I swear, I am never letting her drive again! Do you want to drive, or should I?”

“I’ll drive.”

Martin smiled. “Do- do you want tea, or anything? I’m sure the kitchenette has a teapot I can use.”

“Tea would be nice, thank you.” They made their way down the stairs, the blanket trailing after Jon. It was too warm, and it smelled like Martin. He pulled himself into the driver’s seat and took the 1 kilo weights off of the steering wheel. There were protests as Martin walked in front of the screen to get to the kitchenette, which was met with a glare and a stern talking-to about responsibility.

“It’s not like any of us can die.”

Jude, who hadn’t noticed Manuela abandon her post, groaned and lit a cigarette. Martin opened a window.

“Anyone want some tea?”

“I’d have a cup.”

“Anyone other than Oliver? Any drink, really.”

From the front seat, Jon said, “Not blood.”

“Yes, right, not blood. Not blood.”

Jude smiled and asked for blood. Martin flicked some water on her, which sizzled like it was on a grill.

\---

The next domain was that of the Vast. Predictably, it seemed to go on forever. Luckily, it was the domain of Simon Fairchild, and Jared managed to seduce him into not only letting them go, but joining them. Sarah muttered something about a polycule, and Jude mimed vomiting. That statement wasn’t as bad as some of the others, and Martin wrote parts of it down in order to “write another Mechanisms album”. After that came the Spiral, which Helen led them through easily. Soon enough, however, they were passing through the domain that Jon wanted to go to the most and the least. The Hunt. Daisy’s domain.

There were other avatars of the Hunt, of course. But the Montauks had been killed- or at least, incapacitated- by Daisy and the thing that was not Sasha, and most of the rest were spread around the world. The Eye seemed to have chosen to put only people Jon knew in his path, since Maneula was up in Ny-Alesund last anyone heard from her. Not that space worked as a concept anymore. But no matter the cause, Jon could feel Daisy’s presence like a hand at his throat. They all stayed in the bus, and everyone but Jon was sitting downstairs in silence and darkness. Jude and Helen had decided to take it upon themselves to watch the windows for any signs of movement, while Oliver drove. Simon and Manuela made the bus seem farther away and darker, respectively. Martin was sitting with Jared, Sarah, and Jan and keeping quiet. Now the streamers that had once seemed gauche appeared like looming shadows, like snakes in the dark just waiting to find you.

The four of them could hear the Archivist’s statement even from where they were, his voice the only thing breaking through the silence. He spoke of a few victims of the Hunt, being chased all the time, the little girl afraid of dogs, the cancer patient who was more afraid that they couldn’t run than of the cancer, the woman who swore her heartbeat was the loudest thing in the world. He spoke of the places they were hiding and running- an abandoned mall at midnight with only a giant eye in the sky providing light as footsteps echoed off of the walls, the laboratory from Jurassic Park, a coral reef for the diver being chased by a shark. Finally, he spoke of her. How she saw the bus, could smell blood and heat on it but it was too far away and she couldn’t wrap her head around it. How she felt the pulse of a vein against the cut she had made so long ago. The smell of the man who once brought tea and then left her and her Basira on their own. The one who had attacked her and her institute without rhyme or reason (the one she respected for his fighting style). The one who smelled like the man she had buried the day she left a mark on the throat of the Archivist, who was watching her now as she watched him pass by. Simon heard that part of the statement and made a small noise as he figured out what happened to Mike Crew. And that small noise was enough. Daisy had gotten their smell, and their sight, and the volume of that unhappy hmmph placed them exactly where she was about to land.

The bus shook from side to side as she hit the metal. Claws scratched at the exterior, making a horrible sound. That’s when Martin remembered that Jude had been smoking upstairs a few hours ago. He felt his breathing get heavy as he tried to figure out if she had actually listened to his advice about opening a window. Based on the scream from above him, she had.

Helen was the first up the stairs, her fingers growing longer as she ran. Next was Martin himself, and then Sarah. The rest of the group stayed downstairs out of fear or cowardice, and Martin didn’t care which it was. He didn’t realize that the three who went upstairs were the three who Daisy knew.

The Archivist, on the other hand, did know that. He also knew that Daisy couldn’t hurt him, but could absolutely hurt Martin. When Helen rounded the corner, he threw himself at Daisy and began to Know. He told Daisy her own story, about all the terrible things she did as a cop, about the Buried, about Mike Crew, about Melanie and Georgie and Jonah and section 31, and he told it not chronologically, but in order of what she cared about. What she remembered. He ended with Basira, and the promise she had made Basira make. And it worked. The eyes surrounding Jon didn’t fade, but dulled in green-ness. Daisy growled, but she was regaining the spark to her eyes that had nothing to do with murder. The smell of cloves from Sarah Baldwin didn’t help, but Jon held onto her with strength that was not his own and he whispered in her ear about the world since she had turned, about one final hunt with the pack. The Eye fed him what to say without a moment’s hesitation as blood began to trickle out from the eyes on his face and dripped onto Daisy’s shoulder. She lapped at it, hungry for the taste, but when Jon pushed her back and looked her dead in the eye, she whimpered like a scolded dog. The blankets stopped looking like misshapen humans, and the lights began to look warm instead of revealing. Daisy grabbed Jon’s arm and pulled him past the other three, growling at Sarah on her way past. She threw herself into the driver’s seat, Oliver still sitting there, and slammed the gas. When they finally made it out, Daisy passed out.

It was Martin that managed to get the two of them separated, and the Institute employees made their way up the steps. Daisy was in Martin’s arms, out cold. Oliver nodded at them and kept going. They sat down on the bed, and Jon let out a breath for the first time in over an hour. Martin didn’t notice that he hadn’t been breathing. He just went to go get some tea for all three of them and shush the others, who were going back to the time period’s Smash tourney. He did make a note about how his brain managed to say “time period” instead of day.

When Daisy woke up again, she was confused. She still had fur on her arms and claws instead of fingernails and a mouth full of canines, but she barely remembered what happened after she had killed the Montauks. Sipping on her tea slowly, she listened as Jon and Martin explained what had happened. After she was caught up, she asked the question Jon had been expecting.

“And- and Basira?”

“I can’t quite tell. She’s in London, that I know, but as whatever it is that I’m trying to Know about gets closer to the tower, I can see less and less. She’s alive, and fighting, and safe-ish.”

“And we’re going there, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Did you bring any of my knives or guns?”

\---

Between Daisy’s domain and the domain of the Lonely. Throughout it all, Jon held Martin close as he drove through. There was no avatar there that they ran into. Of course, that was rather the point, wasn’t it?

The domain of the Web was next. If Jon had thought that the relief between the last two was small, this one jutted into the Lonely. It filled Jon with a sense of unease and prompted questions about free will. When Jon went up to record a tape, he wasn’t even surprised to see Annabelle Cane sitting there.

“Well, Archivist? No snarky remarks? No threats on my life? No ‘don’t touch martin’s?”

“I am here to record a statement.”

“No thanks, either, I see.”

Jon ignored her and watched her intently as he spoke about the matters of free will, destiny, and predestination. All in all, it was a far more religious experience than he was counting on. She just smiled the whole time, playing with one of the curls that had fallen out of her bun.

When he came down with her, they were out of her domain. Martin grabbed onto one of Jon’s arms and ignored her. That seemed like the best way to stay out of her grip, although it probably didn’t matter. Daisy stayed on the other side of Jon, acting oddly catlike towards the Spider.

“There’s one more domain before mine. Daisy, this- it might be hard on you. Let’s just get it over with.”

Basira’s domain was dark and covered in mirrors. The places without mirrors have bookshelves and eyes. Jon finds Basira as fast as he can and pulls her out of the glass case. The eyes have spread over her body, into her hair, and he tries his best to look away until Daisy covers her head with her jacket. She’s barely breathing, and Jon knows she won’t breathe again fully until she’s out of here. She’s watching this happen, he just knows it. Martin hands him a tape recorder as he comes back to the bus, but Jon shakes his head. There’s no need to record an experience of the Eye.

Jon doesn’t know what happens next. He can’t see within the stronghold of the Eye. All he knows is that when he can think again, he’s in a bed in a flat he recognizes as Martin’s, curled up beside the one he loves.

**Author's Note:**

> uh dont read my other stuff. anyway tumblr is @star---core, hmu there if you want!  
> edited on june 8th for readability and to fix tags/summary and improve readability, originally written/published the day before 168 came out.


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